Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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"Well. It happened. It's past, or almost. Once I get Lixand back that portion of my life will be truly
done." She smiled a twisted sort of smile. "Maybe I should thank her; if she hadn't done that I would
never have borne him. Other children, but not him." She tried to keep it light, suspected she wasn't
succeeding. She looked up through her eyelashes at his face.
There was understanding; she could almost see the pieces fall into place in his mind, his eyes showing it
clear, a flicker or pain, then sorrow, for her. The breath she let out was not as calm as she wanted to
pretend. She hadn't realized she was holding it.
"Atzathratzas was Lixand's father," he said, barely louder than a whisper. It was only half-questioning.
Then he offered her his hand, palm up. Not reaching, but leaving her the choice to take or not.
Careful not to scratch him, she laid her hand in his. The ridge of his sword-callus lay warm under the soft
skin of her thumb, somehow comforting, like Shkai'ra's.These hands would never move anyone
around like a puppet, or a doll .
"You said he was almost ten."
She cleared her throat, making a scratchy sound. "Dah. He was born in the Year of the Iron Ri,
summer—ten now, he'd be."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty and four." She looked at her hand in his, the scratches on his nails and the scrape on a knuckle,
as if they were the most important things in the world. Then she raised her eyes to his, making them as
calm as she could.
He was looking beyond her, beyond the wall of the cart, far away, eyebrows ridged black over
narrowed eyes, lips pressed into a thin line. Then the eyes came back, and he mock-spat, hard, in the
direction of Arko.
He's already closer than I let most people get, ever,she thought. Another part of her thought:that's
the first bitterness I've ever seen from him, against them .
Pain hung with claws from the inside of her ribs, drawn by his sympathy. She shrugged, casual like
Shkai'ra, forced the words. "I lived."Does he do this to everyone in this army? Even every special
operative? "I …" Her throat froze up, the worse since she'd told Shkai'ra, who hadn't made much of it,
despite her efforts. "I can heal." Swallowing the hurt in her throat, she raised her eyes to his, forced them
steady.
"Oh, yes," he said lightly, as if it were a given. "You can. You will. It's just difficult and takes a long time.
I know."
I know. The word echoed in her ears, like a bell, significant, like a drop of blood in water.He does . It
came to her:he was a slave of Arko .
Most of his scars were hidden under near-priceless armor, now, but she remembered them, the marks
of the ten-beaded whip, the brand burns.Why am I thinking he wouldn't have got the rest of the
usual treatment? That sort of thing doesn't only happen to the poor; there are shits in every
quarter. He just ran up against the richest shit of all, the Imperator . A tale she had heard at a fire
came hard back into her mind: that he'd suffered the worst tortures at the hands of Kurkas. Personally.